A Dancer's Lament
by teacup bear
Summary: Levi is one of the best ballet dancers in the country. The question is, what will he do to keep his title? Rated M for eating disorders and possible malexmale in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Dance is the hidden language of the soul"  
― Martha Graham

* * *

_One two three, one two three, one two three..._

A stretched, delicate leg reached its way to the heavens. His arms formed a crescent shape in front of his balancing body. Each limb reunited to crouch into his now shrunken figure before going up again and performing one, two, three, four pirouettes. As the last move was formed and the music closed to an end, Levi stood in fifth position.

He could feel the sweat drip down his temples and onto his collarbones. His leotard stuck to his drenched abdomen. Filthy.

"Pathetic." The dancer grabbed his bag off of a nearby bench and sped off to the bathroom, locking himself into an empty stall. He covered his features with his slender palms, weeping into the paths on his bumpy skin. "I'm such a screw up. Dammit..."

The bathroom was empty. Then again, Levi _was_ the only person who practices from sunrise to sundown. He removed a tear soaked hand away from his reddened face and unzipped his duffel bag, pulling out his watch from the front pocket. Four thirty seven in the morning. It was too early to be crying. On the decision that he will save his tears for shots of whiskey in the evening, he pulled his leotard down and unlocked the stall door.

A wide length mirror was glued onto the back of the door. Only remaining in his slippers and leg warmers, he stepped out and examined his body. Levi was a pale man, only standing a few inches over five feet without heels. A bony finger ran down his chest, stopping at his waist. He poked into his side, creating a small indent. Levi pulled at it and jiggled the flesh. He gave a sigh.

"Too much."

The man performed a pirouette in front of his reflection, just barely hitting the sinks on the wall opposite. He didn't like the way his stomach moved, how every hanging piece of skin jiggled with his spins, how, though his arms and legs were beyond muscular, his abdomen twirled with him.

Lucky for him he had Hoodia Gordonii on his side. With a sharp turn, his ballet shoes danced their way back to the stall. He snatched the bag off of the toilet seat and feverishly unzipped the main compartment, pulling the bottle out. Levi's surprisingly untrimmed nails helped get the plastic off of the cover, and he pulled the cap off, fishing two or three into his hand and swallowing them dry.

The dancer looked around at the cramped stall. 'Filthy,' he thought to himself, pulling out his regular clothes from the bag and getting changed.

* * *

/There will be much more to this story don't you worry


	2. Chapter 2

"Are you ready for today?"

"What an idiotic question to ask."

Levi lifted his gaunt face upwards as a thin layer of lip balm was applied to his wet lips. He rubbed them together and reopened his mouth with a loud popping sound.

"All of France will be watching, Mister Levi."

"I know."

He continued to stare at the ceiling as a thick-haired brush started to glide along his cheeks. There wasn't much up there, much to his dismay. His requests to have something painted onto the blank tiles must have been disregarded. Then again he only visited his makeup suite at least once every few months, so would it really be worth it?

It had been exactly a month since he started taking the pills. Levi had stepped onto the scale every single day since the beginning, watching as his one hundred thirty pound figure easily dropped to one hundred twenty four. The physical loss didn't show however, for he could still pull at himself and grab a handful of skin.

Losing weight wasn't the only side effect. The man could feel himself become tired around five o'clock each evening instead of the usual eleven thirty. He had missed his sunrise practices at least twice. Waves of nausea hit him in the face when he moved too quickly, causing him to have to take ten minute breaks to get his focus back.

"Hanji."

The circular motions on his face had ceased. "Yes, Mister Levi?"

"Accompany me during the session. I have been feeling faint as of lately." He rolled his eyes towards her and gave a hint of a smirk. "I'll be counting on you."

A gasp was released, followed by a toothy grin. "Yes, Mister Levi!" Her features then became sorrow. "I'm sorry about your current state."

"Its okay. Its not your fault I'm feeling this way." Levi's chocolate orbs wandered to the clock reflected in the mirror. "Ten minutes until I go on. Hanji; dress me."

* * *

_"Are you ready?!"_

The roaring sound of applause echoed through the studio. Levi stood at the edge of the set, hidden from view. Everything felt heavy. His neck ached, the heels on his shoes made him unable to walk, his belt pressed into his body at all angles. He had popped a few more of his diet pills before exiting the room out of his assistance's sight. Hopefully the belt issue would disappear within a week or so.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to welcome onto the stage France's favorite dancer, Levi Rivaille!"_

He prepared his fake smile and took a few steps forward. Pain rumbled through his bones. It didn't matter though, did it? As long as he showed signs of happiness, no one in the audience would be able to tell he was in extreme discomfort. His feet trudged on.

An eruption of clapping and hollering greeted him onto the stage. Levi gave a few uneventful waves as he made his way to the chair in the center of the floor. He's done this before; Fake a warm smile, wave to the audience, make your voice sound seductive when you speak, throw some humor in. It has been done too many times to remember.

The dancer finally met the chair and shook hands with the host, a cougar named Francis Duval. "Its a pleasure having you here, Levi."

"Its a pleasure having you of all people interview me." There was a hint of snark in his voice. The both sat down, each in their own blue suede seats.

"Levi I love you!" a teenager screamed from the crowd. _Well I hate you, scum. _"I love you too, whoever you are."

"Anyways..." Francis shuffled through the papers in his hands. "How do you feel, being on live television?"

"Its not that bad. When I dance I have a live audience anyways, so there's really no difference." Francis was always an idiot.

"You are one of the dancers in this year's performance of Swan Lake, correct?"

"Yes, I will be the prince."

"Aren't you a little short for that role?"

"Aren't you a little cocky?" The room filled with laughter. The echoes made his head throb.

The host gave him a sour look and continued. "Well I guess I am. Remind me, when is opening night?"

"Its in about a year-" One of the lights flashed into his eyes. Levi covered his face with an arm to block it out, but the swift movement made him sick to his stomach.

"Sorry about that Levi...are you okay?"

He felt himself go pale and his body heat up. A lump formed in his throat and an acidic taste soon followed.

"Someone get his assistant!"

It was too late. Before Levi could cover his mouth, he started to heave. His solid black khakis were now stained orange. The vomit leaked down his legs and onto the floor, making the audience gasp and scream.

Hanji ran onto the floor, stepping in front of Levi and blocking him from the cameras. "Turn them off! He doesn't want to be seen like this!"

Levi took the opportunity and got up, making a run for it to his dressing room. He didn't make it off the stage however, because he felt another rush in his throat, and more fluid erupted from his mouth. This time his vomit landed a few feet away from the exit door. A few audience members had started to laugh.

He felt tears form in his eyes and he booked it off of the stage, barely being able to balance due to his heels. The dancer was able to make it to his makeup room without interruption, but the second the door shut he heard Hanji knocking.

"Are you okay Mister Levi?!"

"Leave me alone, you skank."

He pulled out a maroon bottle from a desk drawer and opened it, taking a swig of vodka. "Oh shit." Levi threw the alcohol onto the zebra-patterned couch and removed his belt, tugging his ruined pants off of his legs.

"Oh no, oh no..." He lay it on the bed, keeping a distance from it as he scanned his stomach acids for the pills. "They better still be in me and not on that blasted stage. My reputation will be ruined!"

Levi dug through his laundry hamper and found a pair of slightly dirty slacks; they would have to do for the moment. He put his legs through one by one, zippered them, and grabbed his cell phone from the bureau.

"Hanji, we're going home."


End file.
